


I Still Need You

by play_your_tambourine



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, F/F, Implied Relationships, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21600493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/play_your_tambourine/pseuds/play_your_tambourine
Summary: He didn’t feel worthy of telling her he loved her, because he didn’t love her enough to save her
Relationships: Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Marya Dmitryevna Akhrosimova/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	I Still Need You

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry guys haha. This isn't a very Happy first posted work for Thanksgiving y i k e s

_ We lost her _ . The words echoed in Fedya’s head on repeat, over and over again. He was staring at her, paled and bloody, and could do nothing else. For a while, he wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Fedya wasn’t sure if he was even alive at this point, because he couldn’t understand of all people, Helene would be the one to go—Helene, who kept everyone else’s sanity in check, who made sure people she cared for knew they were more important than even herself. It didn’t make sense why god would make her leave the earth while he was still allowed to be on it. Him, the monster, the raging psychopath, got to walk away from the car with just scrapes and a bloodied face. They hadn’t even been the ones to cause it. They hadn’t run a red light. Helene’s scream when she realized the car coming at them was one Fedya would hear in his nightmares. Fedya couldn’t look at Anatole; he couldn’t so much as speak, watching the firefighter lay one of his best friends out on the shoulder of the road, repeating it again and again. “We lost her, why are we-” But then the man would turn and look over at them, and fight against her body once more.

Anatole hadn’t stopped crying since he realized they’d been hit. He didn’t think to check the passenger side, and that was the lone thought in his mind: if he tried to pull her out, would she have made it? Would they have seen how badly she was bleeding and be able to slow it down? He let his sister die. He let her stay conscious in that vehicle until a man half lunged into the toppled over vehicle from the driver’s side. The guy couldn’t suppress the horror on his face upon seeing her body crushed against the pavement, window shattered from each time the car rolled. Anatole left his sister to die; he didn’t feel worthy of walking over and paying his respects. He didn’t feel worthy of telling her he loved her, because he didn’t love her enough to save her.

She shouldn’t make it. Fedya hated that he knew that just from watching them, from hearing one of them scream “Where the fuck is the ambulance?!” because emergency personnel are meant to keep their calm. But Helene was young, she was radiant and her character was worth more than Anatole and himself combined; she was the kind of person where you could see that, even bloodied and unconscious that she wasn’t supposed to end like this. Helene wasn’t supposed to be dying on the side of the road at seventeen years old before she even had a chance to fight. “Stay with us, come on, open your eyes!” The blonde craned his neck, trying to get a better view of what was happening: namely if her eyes were open. “No, Helene!” The man yelled firmly, looking back towards the two male crash victims who leaned against the highway railing, watching the cars pass, praying to hear an ambulance any second now.

Fedya’s arm was bent wildly out of place, but he refused to let them touch it. He snapped any time someone so much as took a step in his direction, gesturing wildly to the brunette girl, “Help her, I’m breathing,  _ help her! _ ” And they would. The pain felt like nothing in comparison.

Anatole couldn’t stop seeing the image of the horrified face belonging to the man who’d hit them, hands over his mouth at the bloodied road and destroyed vehicle. He ran his whole truck into Anatole’s sister; he didn’t care about running the light until it killed someone. The guy took a few steps towards the wreckage as they were pulling themselves out. He didn’t apologize when the firefighters managed to pry the car door open and drag Helene’s limp body out, but he cried almost as hard as Anatole did, and the blonde decided in his mind that this man had no damn right to cry. He’d done this. He ran the red. He flipped their car over six times. He killed Anatole’s sister. The blonde had never hated a person more in his life aside from himself, and yet all he could do was stare from a distance at Helene’s body coated in blood.

Helene saw the high beams, heard glass breaking, heard bones shattering, and felt more pain than she ever had in her entire life. She saw fire truck lights though the sound was muted. Her eyes were closing, some guy yelling to stay awake, but her lungs were fighting her, vision hazy, and staying awake was hard. More voices she didn’t know and the pavement was rough on her skin. It only took seven minutes for her to begin to forget where she was and what this voice yelling was from and for her body to finally give up. The firefighters knew she was a goner from the second they saw her laying there.

~

When Marya got the news, it was quite literal. Headlines on every newspaper laid out on her table read the same thing: ‘Seventeen year old girl dies in Accident’ or ‘Ran Red light ends life of teenage girl’ and gave her brief thoughts and prayers to the family of the victim. She never read the name. It wasn’t until they were in school that she began to notice something was off. No one was running around screaming and cheering. No one was joking around: there was no locker slamming or laughing, despite everyone being in the halls. Everyone sat on their own, or quiet utterances of a funeral going around. The football team was in tears. It wasn’t until arms wrapped around her gently, whispering “I’m so sorry. I know you guys were close,” that Marya ran through each person she deemed close—there weren’t many—and decided to actually read the article. She found several through Google, and the second she read over the summary, Marya nearly fell to her knees.  _ Helene Kuragin, 17, lost her life in a car accident Tuesday around 10pm...  _ The redhead half stumbled to the bathroom, locking herself in the farthest stall from the door, not masking the tears; everyone was crying, and everyone knew exactly why.

Natasha heard the news immediately upon entering the building; her group was always in with the gossip, and if anything happened that was of importance, she didn’t need the paper to tell her what it was. She’d never felt pain like the shock to her heart that made her double over. Helene was the one that made Natasha who she was in this school: not knowing Helene Kuragin was a crime in the student body. The brunette with a radiant smile and bright eyes made Natasha feel genuinely beautiful for the first time in her life. They grew apart steadily, taking on their own friend groups, but Natasha never resisted the urge to smile when Helene would call her name warmly from across the hallway. Helene was by no means perfect, but she was a better person than a good majority of them.

Sonya found out in first period from a bunch of loudly sobbing girls in varsity jackets in the back of the room. The first thing Sonya thought to do was text Fedya.  _ Are you okay?  _ She sent that same text to Natasha and Marya, too. His only response was  _ I would rather be home. _

Everyone stared at Anatole with pity in their eyes; he didn’t look at them. Only straight ahead, trying to pretend his sister was walking right beside him, whispering something under his breath: “You’d lose your shit if you saw this, Lena…” The blonde clutched at the necklace he was wearing tight in his fist. He didn’t wear it often, but Helene always said the blue shine brought out his eyes. He wore it on all his dates, and Helene would offer him a knowing smirk. Anatole hadn’t spoken to anyone except the sister he refused to believe wasn’t alive in days. No one would be able to fill that gaping hole. “I can’t do this,” The blonde turned to his left and said, choking on the sob in his throat. No one was by his side. “Why would you do this…?” He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to walking without her: the quiet that accompanied it. That never used to happen before. 

~~

Marya opened her bedroom door to find Natasha standing by it expectantly. Marya didn’t say a greeting, just holding her hands over her face and trekked to her bed. The younger girl stayed silent, watching the redheaded upperclassmen collapse on the bed. She sat on the foot of Marya’s bed gently. She didn’t say a word. Her presence was enough, and Marya loved that she knew that. The younger girl didn’t move or even say anything until the other girl picked up her head. 

“It’s Helene,” Marya hiccupped.

“I saw,” Sonya must’ve given Natasha a lot of practice, because the girl was a master of her words: when to talk and when not to. When to comfortingly rub her back and when to just sit there. She dealt with the whirlwind of Marya’s sobbing to angry yelling into pillows about how life is unfair with such poise it was almost as if she wasn’t in the hallway reading the devastating news with the rest of them. Marya had never felt so thankful.

Anatole still wasn’t ready to process it all as he went towards Helene’s bed, sitting down on it, running his hands over its covers. He didn’t even notice Vasily ushering his brother—poor, poor Ippolit out of the room, or Fedya who he’d forgotten he even invited over leaning softly against the doorframe. No one expected it. She didn’t have enough time in this beautiful world that didn’t feel so beautiful anymore. It didn’t feel real. How could it? That should have been nobody. If it had to be, it should have been him.

God, she was too good. 

His eyes were glazed over when he looked up again, this time finally seeing Fedya’s figure. That same forced smile as when he was asked by his father if he was alright plastered onto his face. “I’m so sure she was saying ‘I love you guys when she-,” Anatole let out a weak chuckle, not able to finish that sentence. “Can you believe her?”

Fedya approached hesitantly, steps purposeful but quiet and soft, stopping about one foot in front of her. He knew how close Anatole was to completely breaking. “Always was quite the generous one, wasn’t she?” Anatole nodded, tears streaking down his face.

His voice was so weak yet so firm as he began “I-I never got good grades. Our dad w-w-would always get so mad because I... for the life of me I-I couldn’t do math. And Helene would literally sit me down at t-the table a-and make m-me practice my t-times t-tables... It s-seemed so futile at the time,” Anatole’s chuckle was cold. “Then I got an A o-on an exa-a-am, and s-she called me,  _ screaming  _ about how happy she was for me,” A heavy pause. “I don’t think she ever realized she was the reason,”

“She’s never been good at seeing herself as amazing,” Fedya noted quietly, grabbing for the tissues at her bedside, ignoring the chills that ran up his spine. “It’s a shame,” 

A heavy silence passed over them where neither one had a clue about to say. It was if Helene’s presence still lingered in the room, the pain too real for either male to find words. For a moment, the world crashed down again, and they found themselves laying on the floor, the room pitch black. Memories played over and over again: each time they played a game of tag Helene took too seriously, each time Helene laughed obscenely loud when Anatole wiped out at the ice rink, the sarcasm, the snide comments about whoever irritated her at the last party that made their large group of friends burst into laughter. Just all the times Helene was...Helene and she carried on as if her painful demise wasn’t around the corner. But really, how could she have known?

“She didn’t d-deserve that,” Anatole spoke suddenly, voice shaking. It was feeling more and more impossible to keep that calm facade and be the strong one as Fedya looked closer at the brother’s features that showed enough turmoil to last a lifetime. Fedya knew Anatole wasn’t going to come back from this. “No one does,” Anatole didn’t lay there any longer: he threw his body into the upperclassman, tears immediately soaking his sleeve. The only thing he could whisper in Anatole’s ear to keep himself from breaking was a gentle repetition of “We’ll be okay,” until his own voice made him feel sick. 

They all sat around that night hoping, praying to God that she’d wake up and it’d be a dream. Or a prank. That Anatole would wake up and go down to breakfast and see Helene dancing by the stove making a morning cup of tea, or Natasha would overhear the radiant brunette trying to serenade Marya as she silently grabbed her breakfast from the school cafeteria. They all just needed to wake up and be in a better world than this one. 

But the look on Helene’s face: those last moments of consciousness, pure terror and confusion, hurt those in the car the most. Those may have been Helene’s last moments. In her last moments, she wasn’t smiling like an idiot, or laughing, or flirting just for the fun of it.. She was in pain. And no one seemed ready to handle that idea.

Helene was a fixture in their lives; she was a piece of their hearts, too.. It felt as if her world was lit on fire. Life has a funny way of taking people out of it. But at the very least, wherever Helene was, in the ground or in the sky, at least she wasn’t in pain. It was the one thing they could hold onto tight since they couldn’t hold Helene one final time.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated! :)


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